


Journey Through the Center of Hell

by Allen92909



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Graphic Description, Hell Fic, Hurt Sam, One Shot, Other, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allen92909/pseuds/Allen92909
Summary: Post Swan Song...what if Sam found his own way out of hell. "Suddenly, he knows. He knows without a doubt that he made it. He completed his journey. He escaped his hell. And now he can make his way back to Dean." This is his journey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this and thought, what if Sam found his own way out of hell. This is his journey and I'll warn you, it's very graphic. There are depictions of torture, abuse, bodily harm, and rape. If you are squeamish, this might not be the story for you. It's only one chapter and I have no plans of continuing it.

He doesn't know how long he's been walking on this endless path towards the light. Perhaps it's been days, weeks, or years. There's no way to track the time in this hell he's in. He remembers not who he is, nor where he is. He remembers only the pain and agony of this hell and he remembers that he's supposed to reach the light. That's the only way he can finally be free.

 

It seems as though he may never reach the light, left to wander this path for eternity. He doesn't know how long his broken body can carry him, but he doesn't stop. He keeps on his journey, walking on bloody soles for feet, so torn and shredded he can no longer feel them.

 

For reasons he doesn't know, he's naked, his bare skin covered in welts, cuts, and bruises. It's as torn as the soles of his feet from unimaginable pain and torture. There's a heavy metal collar around his neck, not so tight it hinders his breathing, but tight enough to chaff, leaving behind dark abrasions. There's a chain leading from it down to a pair of metal shackles on his wrists and another chain leading from them down to shackles on each ankle, which has caused him to falter in his steps countless times during his journey.

 

The first part of his journey takes him through a dessert, the sky gray and dismal and the ground beneath him blazing hot sand, so hot he can make out steam trailing up from it towards the sky. It aches and fries the bottom of his feet, but he pushes back the pain and keeps walking until his feet stumble on the damn chain between them and he collapses to his hands and knees. Searing pain burns into his hands, the skin melting off his palms completely. He can feel his knees burning with the same pain, the skin melting down to cartilage and then bone. He's tries to scream, but his throat is so dry that nothing but a squeak comes out.

 

He forces himself back to his feet and stumbles along awkwardly trying to regain his balance. His hazel eyes search for the light, seeing it far off in the distant sky....so far, he's certain he'll never reach it. The light is what keeps him going, the prosperity and hope of finally being free of this place, this journey. The hope of finally reaching the end. The End of what exactly, he isn't quite sure.

 

After what seems like years of walking, the scenery slowly begins to change around him. A cool wind whips through his chestnut hair, so long now it's reaching his shoulders, and begins to chill his scorched body. The sand slowly becomes dirt and then grass, as he starts his way into a forest. Leaves rustle in the trees and he thinks he can here faint noises of wildlife around him.

 

He struggles to step around stones and twigs, then around a few fallen trees. The chains between his shackled ankles make it difficult for him to navigate this new terrain. His stomach growls at him in protest, longing for sustenance. He can't remember the last time he's eaten anything. He feels like it's been too long between meals and yet somehow he is still alive, still walking on this journey.

 

He stops when he thinks he hears the rushing of water. His ears focus and he quickly darts to the left, licking his dry and chapped lips in anticipation of what hopefully lies ahead. He stumbles over some tree limbs and climbs over a large rock, his feet hitting the cool waters of a stream. In an instant, he's on his knees cupping that sweet liquid in his hands and gulping it down as quick as he can.

 

It seems his body can't get enough. He revels not only in the taste as it slides smoothly down his throat, but the feeling of it on the soles of his bloody feet and the palms of his burned hands. For a moment, his journey is forgotten and he sits at the edge of the stream letting the water lap over his legs. It feels cool and refreshing.

 

He takes a few more handfuls of water, nearly gagging as the last of it slid down his throat with a metallic taste to it. He jerks back from the water, stumbling when he sees that the water is slowly turning a dark shade of red. _Blood_ , it must be blood. He retches a few times, nothing but a bit of bile coming up, before he scrambles from the water and decides to continue his journey.

 

He looks to the light, but some of the trees are so tall that they block his view of that tiny spark in the distant sky. A howl heard in the distance makes him quicken his pace, though he's not even sure he's walking towards the light now. For all he knows, he could be headed backwards. Something rustles around in some bushes nearby and he falters, tripping on a rock that sends him to his knees...bones scraping against the ground painfully. He thinks he hears something breathing quite heavily nearby and stills himself. If there's something out there in the woods, he doesn't want to make any sudden movements and get it's attention.

 

The sound of breathing moves closer, close enough now that he can feel it's hot breath on the nape of his neck. He feels something nudging into him that's cold and wet. Whatever it is, begins to huff and sniff at his neck. He doesn't move, knowing that something's there, but not being able to see it. He barely even breaths, hoping that whatever it is will lose interest in him. It makes another huffing noise and suddenly, he feels a whoosh of air move around him as something slams against his back, claws tearing into his skin. He's forced onto his stomach as the claws rake down his back, tearing skin and leaving a trail of deep red in it's wake. The pain is too much and he can barely keep focused, his body forced beyond exhaustion, beyond pain. He's ready to give up, but a glimmer of hope snaps him back to attention.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the light shining in the distant sky like a beacon calling out to him. He forces his hands underneath himself and pushes his body up as hard as he can, though it only causes the creature to dig it's claws in deeper. The first one, that he'd nearly forgotten about, reaches an invisible mouth around one of his arms, clamping it's jaw down tightly as it's sharp teeth sunk in to bone. Claws release from his back, the creature seemingly gone as the first one begins to drag him by his arm. He twists and wriggles trying to get free, but it's useless. He's at the mercy of these invisible creatures. He can hear a howling again and the rush of feet, almost like a pack of dogs on the run. He knows now that it was the creatures howling and it makes him fight even harder now...not wanting to be the victim of this pack of wild animals or beasts or whatever it is they are. He has to get free before they eat him.

 

His good hand, or at least the one attached to the arm not in some beasts teeth, reaches for a branch as he's being pulled roughly along the ground. He swings out hoping to make contact with the thing that's holding a vice grip on him. It's hard when you can't see what you're attacking.

 

The first few swings of the branch are a miss and it doesn't help that his arms only have so many inches of give between them thanks to the chains between his shackles. The next swing is a hit. He hears a whimper and the grip on his arms lessens, but it's not enough. He swings again and this time the thing lets go and rolls away. He ignores the pain in his arm, the pain in his back and shoots to his feet as quick as possible, trying like hell to run despite the chain between his ankles.

 

As he runs, the howling gets further and further away. The beasts must have decided to leave him be and he's thankful for that. His body is begging for rest, but he knows he can't risk stopping until he is as far from them as he can get. He doesn't care that his body is on the verge of collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Sharp blasts of pain shoot through his body with each step, each movement away from the beasts and at some point, he finally does collapse in a heap of leaves, dirt, and he isn't sure what else.

 

His eyelids grow heavy and soon, he's met with darkness as they close. His body instinctively curls up into a fetal position as the temperature around him begins to drop. It isn't long before his broken body is shivering fiercely in the cold air. When he wakes, his body is numb and the bleeding wounds from the beasts have stanched. There's nothing but dried flakes of it left on his skin. His eyes scan around him, not noting anything of much significance. He scrambles to his feet, the chains clanging with his movement, as he seeks out the light and once again begins his journey.

 

After several long agonizing days of walking, or has it been years of walking, he thinks he's found another source of water. It's a river and it's his only way across from the forest to the mountainous landscape that lay ahead. He's hopeful that he can quench his thirst when he reaches the river, but it's nothing but red...blood of all the tortured souls that have died on this very same journey to reach the light. His body recoils at the sight of such a foul liquid, his throat ready to gag without even tasting it this time. He knows now that he won't be quenching his thirst here, but he also knows too that he must trudge through the river if he's to continue towards the light.

 

Usually, one would expect a river to be cool against the skin, maybe even refreshing in certain circumstances, but the blood is warm, as if it was fresh from a wound on someone's body. It was almost like being in a bath. He waded into the river, the blood covering most of his body, and swam for the opposite shore hoping not to encounter anything in the river along the way. The blood is thicker than water and makes it harder for him to swim. His arms and legs are working overtime to move him across and the chains between his bindings does little to help him swim properly. His energy is quickly draining as he slowly starts going under. He sputters blood as he forces his head back out from the water and continues trying to swim. He is determined to make it across.

 

When he finally reaches the other shore, he claws his way through the dirt up it's edges and collapses on the rocky ground around him. His body is caked in blood. It crusts around his eyes, his nostrils, it drips from his long hair, and the taste of it lingers in his mouth. He tries to move, but he has no energy left. He's not sure how long he lays there on that shore, but when he finally moves again it's dark around him. He can see only a few feet in front of him and to either side. The light is gone now. He knew it would be back when the darkness left and the skies turned gray again. That was night and day in this place. Darkness at night, not even a moon and stars to light ones path, and gray skies during the day. There's nothing but the light off in the distance during the days in this place.

 

His feet scrape against rocks and stones as he walks. He passes by the occasional tree or shrub, but not much seems to grow the further up he climbs on this mountainside. The air grows thinner and he finds it harder and harder to breath, his movements becoming slower and slower in the higher altitude.

 

The wind picks up the higher he treks, chilling him to the bone. A tiny sliver of light begins to brighten in the sky and he feels a slimmer of hope, knowing he's headed right towards it. With the wind comes whispered sounds, voices...no, just one voice. _“You'll never make it, you're not strong enough to reach the light.”_ He shakes his head to fight off the voice, knowing he's heard it before, but not remembering who the voice belongs to. _“You'll never survive in the true depths of hell, my little bunk mate.”_ It's taunting him and he wants nothing more than to cover his ears to void out the sound, but thanks to the chains he can only lift his arms so high. Then there's another voice calling to him. _“Sammy, it's ok. I'm not gonna leave you.”_ This voice is strained, as if the person is in some sort of pain, but it's also familiar to him...almost as if it's his voice of reason, the voice that encourages him, and soothes him when he's hurt or in a bad way. The voice almost feels like home to him and he wants so badly to reach out to that voice, to put a face to it, and be embraced by the one that embodies that voice.

 

He continues further up the mountain as snow begins to fall. The ground turns to ice as the snow settles around him. His body is shivering uncontrollably, trying to warm itself as his feet turn a shade of blue. They're slowly freezing as he walks on the icy ground, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. He has no choice but to keep walking.

 

Sometimes during his journey he ponders how he's still even walking, how he hasn't died yet from sheer exhaustion or from dehydration and starvation. Hell, he's nothing but skin and bones, and lately, it's mostly just bones. He doesn't know what's keeping him alive.

 

He reaches the top of the frozen mountain peak and stops for a rest. He gazes out over the land ahead of him, towards the light. Even though he's been walking towards the light for days, weeks, years, it seems as though the light hasn't gotten any closer. If anything, it seems as though it's grown further away from him. Maybe the voice was right, maybe he never will reach the light. _No!_ He shakes that thought away. He has to make it. He doesn't remember why, just that he can't give up. He doesn't know what waits for him once he reaches the light, but he believes that whatever it is, has to be better than....than _this,_ better than the here and now.

 

After a moments rest, he starts down the other side of the mountain. It's a slow journey and he falters a few times, tumbling down through the snow several feet at a time...his body nearly frozen and numb now. Soon the light is gone and darkness descends upon this world, so he stops and sits himself under a tree, huddling amongst a cover of leaves to try and keep warm. His stomach aches and rumbles in hunger and his tongue and throat are dry. He craves food and water, but he can't possibly hunt anything in this terrain, not without a weapon of some kind and not with the shackles around wrists and ankles, and any water source he's found has quickly tainted and turned to blood.

 

He thinks he finally succumbs to sleep, but when he wakes, he isn't certain he actually slept. One might usually feel rested after a night of sleep, but he feels just as tired and weak as before. The light is starting to peek through in the sky though so he rises to his frozen feet and starts to walk again, ignoring the exhaustion that seems to forever plague him.

 

Days later, or maybe it's weeks later, the mountainous terrain begins to even out and flatten into a desolate land of nothing. No trees, no grass, no rocks...just gray all around him for miles and miles. There's heat in the air, unrelenting heat that seers and burns at his skin, making it blister and scab over. In the distance he can hear noises. It almost sounds like screaming and moaning, sounds of pain and anguish. It's muffled and far off, but it gets louder the further he walks.

 

Soon, the desolation begins to turn into a muddy landscape, mud mixed with blood and bones. His feet trudge through the mud, the substance weighing his feet down with each step. The screams are louder now and he can see ahead that the mud is moving.

 

As he walks further, he can see that it's not so much that the mud is moving, it's that there are things in the mud that are moving, moving and screaming in agony. They're writhing in pain, their bodies dirty and mutilated. Some look as though they've been skinned alive, some missing limbs as if they were just hacked off with a sword or a saw. Some are burned and charred beyond recognition. They're struggling to be free, to escape the everlasting hell and torment they're in.

 

His feet take him deeper and deeper into the mud, until he's struggling to walk. The things in the mud are grabbing out at him, trying to drag him under. He fights the hands grabbing out at him and tries to carry on, moving agonizingly slow as the mud sloshes around his ankles. Every so often he kicks at a hand or an arm of an opposing threat in the mud and keeps moving. His eyes search up for the light and for once it seems to actually be getting closer to him. For once, he feels like he just might make it through this journey to the end...that is until a set of figures emerge from the mud around him, a mixture of blood, mud, and other foul smelling substances drip from their decaying bodies. There's a hunger in their black as the night eyes and it immediately dashes his hope of reaching the end.

 

The figures move closer around him and unlike the others, they aren't screaming. He tries to fight them as they reach out for him, but the shackles make it almost impossible. They restrict his movements far too much. He feels like he was once a warrior who could take on any foe that came his way, but even without the shackles, he feels so weak and tired. He doesn't have much fight left in him.

 

They rip and tear at his skin. They pull at his limbs and keep him in place. One figure pulls his legs as far apart as they will go, given the little slack from the chains, while the others force him to bend forward. A panic rises in him when a hand caresses his butt cheek and trails over to crack where his hole is. He thrashes as hard as he can and screams out, but he can't break free from the horror he's about to face.

 

Nails dig into his skin as the figures tighten their grip on him, evil and menacing grins on their faces. The one behind him pulls his cheeks apart and kneels down at his butt hole. It's tongue darts out licking wildly, using it's own spit as lube. He tries to clench his ass, afraid of what's to come, but the figure digs nails in to each cheek as it forces him apart again, drawing blood, and using it along with it's spit to lube him up nice and good. His eyes close tightly as a flash of pain floods through him, something long and hard ramming into him from behind. His jaws clenches tightly, trying to hold in a scream.

 

A fist impacts with the side of his face, hitting his jaw hard. Before he can register the pain, his mouth is being forced open and something hard slips passed his lips. The taste is vile and he opens his eyes to find the source of such a vile taste, only to be met with a scene of horror. One of the figures is at his mouth, penis forcing it's way towards the back of his throat, causing him to gag instantly as another figure behind him is pumping into him forcefully and painfully. He's experiencing agony from both ends and he can't fight what's happening. He tries, oh god does he try, but he's too weak. All he wants to do now is curl up in a ball and die.

 

Oh, but the light, the light is still there, still waiting for him to reach it. His eyes find it and focus on it as the pain continues, as he fucked for what seems like hours. When they're finished with him, he's dropped to the muddy ground as the figures disappear back into the mush around him. He's bleeding from where nails had dug into his skin, holding him firmly while they defiled him. There's blood and other fluids flowing freely from his torn ass, mixing in with the mud below him. There's cum and mud trailing from his mouth down his chin. The pain radiates through him in long agonizing jolts. He can barely move, only making the pain worse when he tries, so he just lays there, face down in the mud for several minutes or maybe it's hours. He has never been able to tell time in this god forsaken place.

 

Finally, he musters the energy to move. He ignores the pain flaring up and starts to crawl through the mud on his hands and knees. His hair is full of mud and caked to the side of his face and he can barely see through the strands, but he can't find the energy to try and move it. He's lucky to be moving at all.

 

He makes his way slowly past hands and arms that reach out for him. Amongst the screaming of their pained faces, some manage to call out to him. _“Come, stay with us.” “Give us your soul.” “You're nothing but a worthless whore.”_ He tries to ignore the voices, he tries to keep crawling until something snaps tightly around an ankle. He's pulled back, his body slamming hard against the mud. He's quickly rolled over, a figure instantly pinning him down on his back. It's hand reaches to his head, gently pushing his hair back. He can see eyes of yellow beaming down on him, not bright like the sun, but darker and menacing, a sly smirk on his face. “Hello, Sammy.” It says, the voice making him tense instantly. “I always knew we'd see each other again.” _Sammy?_ Was that his name?

 

This figure, this man with the yellow eyes and the vile smile was familiar. He knew the face, but he just couldn't place a name to him. His body jerked and he fought against him, trying to free himself. “You know, I always had a special place in hell for you.” The figure says. “I had plans for you to lead my army, but this...this is not what I ever expected.” He doesn't know what the figure is talking about. He thrashes again, trying to buck off the yellow eyed man. His eyes spy the light in the far corner of the sky and he feels a temporary surge of energy well up in him, finally allowing him to push the evil figure away. He rolls himself over as quickly as he can, fighting the pain in every orifice of his body and tries to crawl again. The figure was quick to recover, grabbing at him, trying to pull him back, but another set of looming figures stepped in...ripping and tearing at the one with the yellow eyes, ignoring him altogether.

 

He continues crawling, trying to get away while the others seem distracted. The one with the yellow eyes is screaming at him. “You'll never get free. The pit of despair will swallow you whole...” He tunes out the voice as it slowly starts to screech in pain and keeps his eyes on the sky. He crawls through bodies and limbs and blood and organs and figures being raped and tortured around him. The mud is caked heavily on his body, but he can't seem to care. He feels hands tear at his skin, hands pulling hair so hard it rips from his scalp. Something's lunging onto his back, pinning him down again. He fights and squirms as he feels something pushing between his butt cheeks. _No, not again!_ He thinks. It breaches his hole, which is still searing in pain and bleeding from before. It's sharp and jagged and each thrust out and in sends spikes of white hot pain through him. He feels like it's stabbing into his prostrate and straight into his other organs. His breathing hitches and his body is thrashing from the sheer agony.

 

When he feels the object leave his whole, he prays it's for good. He can't take the pain any longer, his vision starting to gray as consciousness begins to lose it's hold on him. His body is rolled over onto his back, which sends an all new pain through his ass. His eyes catch sight of a dark figure looming over him with a bloody, broken piece of bone in his hand...possibly a femur. He stares in horror as the figure brings the bone sharp end down, straight into his chest. His vision flashes white for a hot second and then everything's dark.

 

When his eyes open again, they flutter slowly as the pain starts to come back to him. His breathing is raspy and it feels like one of his lungs is drowning. His arms and legs are sore, muscles screaming out at him with each small movement. His ass is on fire. His whole body is a mess of cuts and bruises, blood and mud. He's not sure where he is, but it's very dark around him, dark and quiet. There's no light above him in the sky.

 

His head tilts around, trying to get a better view at what's around him. Dark figures are all around him, watching him from a distance. Their eyes are glowing a deep shade of red. One at a time, they each flick their wrists and he can see something snaking along the ground towards him. In an instant, barbs are piercing his skin, some going straight through him, some wrapping around him tightly. He realizes now that his shackles and chains are long since gone, the barbed wire replacing it as it snares itself around his body. He finds it in himself to scream as the figures move in closer and closer, watching him wriggle in pain, his movements becoming more and more constricted.

 

“Souls rarely escape the pit of despair.” One of the figures said.

 

“You'll be here for eternity.” Another says.

 

And it was true, mostly. Souls rarely ever escaped the pit. There was one in another part of the pit, who had escaped, but rumor was that angels had been involved in griping that soul tight and raising it from perdition...a soul that had made a deal with demons. Oh there were many of those souls scattered around the pit, left to an eternity of torture at the hands of the demon that owned their soul. This soul, this one was different. They could sense demon inside of him, they could sense grace of inside him....darkness and light in one broken soul, a soul that was clearly running and trying to escape it's fate. But no, they would not let it escape.

 

The pain in his body is all encompassing. It's blinding and agonizing. He's struggling to breath, struggling not to choke on the blood and bile rising in his throat. He's losing focus on the figures. He feels himself breaking all over again, over and over it's happened in this hell, and for a moment, he can't remember what's been keeping him going. For a moment, he forgets the light that he's chasing. But then, then there's something else....something trying to force it's way through his weary mind, perhaps a memory. It's a face with piercing green eyes and shorter brown hair. It's twisted into a playful grin. _“What do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell.”_ He knows that voice and, and he knows that face too. “Dean...” He screams out and suddenly his fight is renewed. He doesn't care that the barbed wire is tearing through him. He pulls and twists and wills the figures back off. He remembers the light. He has to continue his journey, has to make it to that light, to Dean.

 

The figures suddenly look confused. They're moving back, but it doesn't seem as if it's of their own accord. “This can't be.” One says. Suddenly, flames engulf them each and they start to melt into the mud. “No this is impossible.” Another says.

 

He doesn't know what's happening to the figures. It's as if his will was granted. The barbed wire suddenly isn't as constricting as before and he can move, albeit painfully. He slowly rolls to his side, catching his breath for a moment, and roles to his stomach. He begins to crawl through the mud and muck finding his way back to the light and suddenly it's as if the light is right there, so close he can almost touch it.

 

He reaches out a hand to it, the light basking his skin in a warmth he hasn't felt in a long time. Not a searing hot warmth, but a reassuring warmth, like when you're embraced in a hug with a loved one or just had a cup of hot cocoa, or wrapped yourself in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. The light wraps around him like a cocoon and suddenly, he's blinded. The light's too bright as he feels himself lifted from the ground and pulled into the light as if it were some sort of portal. He feels weightless as he floats through the light and then....

 

Darkness. Nothing but darkness. He can't breath and there's something grainy around him, entombing him. His hand claws at the substance around him, trying to find a way out, a way to the surface. After a couple of minutes of digging and clawing his hand makes a break through, reaching out through the ground of an old cemetery...grass all around him, a breeze in the afternoon sky, sun warm against his hand. His head breaks through and he breaths in lungfuls of fresh air. Suddenly, he knows. He knows without a doubt that he made it. He completed his journey. He escaped his hell. And now he can make his way back to Dean.

 


End file.
